


Cliche Guevara

by AndrogynyZombie



Category: Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Punk, Anarchist, Forgotten Realms AU, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Minor Violence, OC, Punk Rock, Riot - Freeform, h/c
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-07 17:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndrogynyZombie/pseuds/AndrogynyZombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Modern Fantasy/Forgotten Realms AU)<br/>Jarlaxle is an indolent and capricious anarchist punk, and Entreri is a bitter 9-5 worker/petty criminal with no real ambitions except to stay alive.</p><p>Unfortunately, "being friends with Jarlaxle" and "staying alive" can be mutually exclusive.</p><p>Will the orcs ever gain equality? Will Drizzt stop being such a priss? At the end of the day, through endless struggle, riot, protests, and violence<br/>will two dudes find it in them<br/>to kiss a whole bunch?</p><p>STAY TUNED AND FIND OUT.</p><p>(Warnings for Violence, Blood, Injury, Police Brutality, Foul Language, Etc. Chapter warnings will be posted at the beginning of each chapter.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sink, Faerun, Sink

**Author's Note:**

> _I was a teenage anarchist_   
>  _Looking for a revolution_   
>  _I had the style, I had the ambition_   
>  _Read all the authors_   
>  _I knew the right slogans_   
>  _There was no war but the class war_   
>  _I was ready to set the world on fire_
> 
> CHAPTER WARNINGS: Violence, police violence, riot violence.

Artemis figured that the sight of squad-car lights flashing off the glass storefronts was a definite sign it was time to leave. The crowds pressed tightly together, and there was an ominous quality to the hush that had descended over the packed town square. He shouldered carefully past a few sweaty, shirtless protesters, balancing on the balls of his feet and craning his neck to try and get a sense of where he was. He could have sworn he’d seen the mirrored glint of SWAT team helmets between the war-painted skulls of the burly orcs forming a barricade with their slipshod protest signs. He sidled past another hulking orc, warpaint starting to smear down her cheeks, and ducked expertly as she swung her own cardboard sign (“EQUAL EDUCATION FOR ORC COMMUNES”) wildly.

Finding a damned black-skinned elf in this rabble shouldn’t have been difficult, but with the impressive height of the orcish gathering, he seemed to have been pressed out of sight. Artemis gritted his teeth in irritation as the crackle of megaphones started to hum beneath the protesters’ renewed chanting. He caught snatches of it (“-airport discrimination-“, “-more than muscle-“, “fund orc schools-“) thundering above the strangled sound of him calling Jarlaxle’s name. 

“DISPERSE IMMEDIATELY!” came the tinny roar of the police officer just behind the line of SWAT officers.

Artemis wanted to run, but the throng was rushing forward, slamming him backwards when he couldn’t duck between the powerful arms that formed a moving shield against him. 

“DISPERSE—“

The command was cut off by the sound of shattering glass, followed by a moment of tense silence. Then there was only screaming. Artemis crossed his forearms over his face and dashed forward , knocking past a few tattooed half-orcs and tripping hard against the sidewalk curb. He caught himself mid fall, bouncing back to his feet. He couldn’t seem to focus on the now-spinning vista of writhing orc bodies before him.

“That didn’t take long, did it?”

Artemis turned, glaring before he even confirmed it was Jarlaxle behind him. The drow slouched against a brick wall, alternately taking shots from a bottle of absinthe and eyeing the remnants.

“We’re getting out of here,” Artemis replied tartly, grabbing hold of Jarlaxle’s vest. The drow frowned and gingerly pulled away, stepping back and setting down his bottle of liquor.

“It just got interesting,” Jarlaxle said, unwrapping the black bandana folded around his wrist and tucking it into the bottle’s neck.

“We’ve been here for almost an hour listening to a lot of angry orcs screaming about the government. It was never interesting. We shouldn’t have been here in the first place, and I want to get out before this gets ugly.”

Jarlaxle arched one of his ringed eyebrows, tossing the bottle from hand to hand and smiling absently at the advancing line of riot police, orc protesters crumpling beneath them.

“How could you say that, Artemis? Our orc brothers need our support! Where is your sense of community?”

“Buried deep beneath my sense of self-preservation. Now either you leave with me now, or you can have fun trying to find someone to bail you out of a drunk-tank of berserkers.” Artemis crossed his arms and walked a few paces past Jarlaxle, jaw tight as he watched a knot of fully-armored police crack a mohawked orc across the skull with their batons. There was screaming and retching as a cloud of tear gas released into a chain of orcs, unnervingly close. Jarlaxle made a tutting noise behind him, the flicking sound of his lighter punctuating his disappointment.

“That,” he said imperiously, “is a stereotype.” There was a hissing noise and a flicker of light in the dim evening as the bottle caught fire.

“JARLAXLE, STOP!”

Artemis only managed to jostle his arm and skew the Molotov cocktail’s trajectory as Jarlaxle lobbed it. 

“Oh, fuck,” Artemis hissed.

He latched onto Jarlaxle’s wrist and pulled violently, almost knocking him over as the two darted off. Jarlaxle was laughing behind him, and if it weren’t for the quickly advancing contingency of riot police, he would have left him there, or punched him in the face, or both.

You there, drow! Surrender yourself immediately!” a voice shouted, close behind.

There was a strangled sound as Jarlaxle’s arm was wrenched away from him. Artemis ducked and kicked at the police officer’s ankles, pulling the drow free and lunging forward.  
In retrospect, he probably should have expected the nightstick that connected with his skull from behind.


	2. Unsubstantiated Rumors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I don't want to talk about it._   
>  _I don't think you'd understand._   
>  _How things can get so fucked up_   
>  _With such good, good intentions._
> 
> (CHAPTER WARNINGS: Head injury, vomiting.)

Artemis didn't want to open his eyes, get up, see where he was, none of it. There was a pounding in his head, and he was pretty sure that if he sat up, he'd vomit. He had to though, because he could hear Jarlaxle saying something suggestive, and he needed to know if he was having a complicated nightmare or if he had to shut his friend up.

"Yah, nindel's biu nempori tri'sae."  
Artemis translated it roughly: _"God, that's an ugly shirt."_

"Wow, I have no idea what that means, but Bahgtru's teeth, it sounds hot. Say something else."

"Pluin udos Inbal vith F'sarn aluin ulu olplynir dosst or'a."  
 _"After we have sex I'm going to steal your wallet."_

Artemis caught a glimpse of Jarlaxle with an orc stooped over him, gangly by orc standards, gold-ringed tusks dragging across the drow's slender neck. Then his vision spun violently, blurring as he retched up a mouthful of bile onto the clammy concrete floor.

"Oh in the name of Lolth- Artemis, are you alright?" 

Jarlaxle shoved the orc off of him unceremoniously and rushed over. Artemis wanted to snap at him for acting like an idiot and landing them in jail, but he was forced to clap his hand over his mouth when his stomach lurched again.

"…no," said Jarlaxe. "No, I don't think you are."

Behind him, the orc was staring balefully out through the holding cell bars, ignoring the rabble of chuckling, muscular orcs huddled on the lone bench against the wall. Artemis screwed his eyes shut for a moment, and opened them again to see Jarlaxle’s face hovering a few feet away, smiling sheepishly. 

“You haven’t called me something horrible and offensive yet. You’re not even yelling.”

Artemis leaned back slightly, taking a few deep breaths to steady him.

“Go eat a dick, you insufferable asshole,” he croaked, pulling his knees to his chest and resting his forehead on them.

Jarlaxle snorted, stepping gingerly past the puddle of bile and settling down on his other side. He waved vaguely at the sulking orc and shrugged.

“You’ve entirely killed that opportunity for me, I’m afraid.”

Artemis raised his head to grimace at him, noticing the dark, wet purple splotches dotting Jarlaxle’s arm. He nudged it wanly, frowning when the drow hissed and pulled his arm away.

“Go’hi,” he muttered, cupping his hand over the largest gash and scowling before tossing his head at Artemis. “At least I don’t have anything on you, Lolth knows. I’m surprised you can even see out of that eye."

Artemis touched just below his left eye, wincing in pain.

“Goddammit, Jarlaxle. That was a brilliant idea you had, lobbing a bottle of fire at the riot police. Please, do tell me what’s next. Were you going to take a piss on the prison guards, perhaps?"

Jarlaxle crossed his arms and huffed. He looked as though he were about to say something, but he was interrupted by the sound of boots clicking towards their cell. The room fell silent, the inmates tensing up in unison. A uniformed guard, a cadet judging from his badge—and a drow to boot—approached the cell, his long white hair swept up into a fountain of ponytail.

“Goddammit,” Artemis muttered under his breath. Jarlaxle picked himself up and stalked over to the cell door, running a hand over his bald scalp.

"Drizzt!" he cried, leaning an elbow between the thick bars. "What a wonderful surprise! To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Drizzt frowned, looking like a disappointed father. He sighed and adjusted his uniform collar, looking past Jarlaxle to the huddled form of Entreri.

"I heard that you were here. Artemis though, seeing you is something of a surprise. Did you finally slip up, or has Jarlaxle turned out to be a worse influence than I feared?"

Artemis silently lifted his middle finger.

“Is our ride here, then?” Jarlaxle interjected, shifting so that he was directly in Drizzt’s line of sight. Drizzt’s brow furrowed, and he took a deep breath.

“Afraid not,” Drizzt said stoically, looking over Jarlaxle’s shoulder to where Artemis was. Jarlaxle swiveled his shoulders to block him again, grinning.

“So, are you here to entertain us then? It’s been dreadfully dull the past few hours,” Jarlaxle said, reaching through the bars to fiddle with one of the medals on Drizzt’s lapel. “Might I add, you look absolutely ravishing in uniform. When did this happen?” Drizzt was nonplussed, gingerly taking hold of Jarlaxle’s wrist to disentangle him from his uniform. Jarlaxle flipped his wrist around and took hold of Drizzt’s hand, bringing it to his lips. Drizzt snatched both hands away, taking a step backwards.

“Jarlaxle, look-“ he breathed, rubbing the bridge of his nose before Artemis’ gruff voice cut in.

“Are you here to _do_ something? Something besides mashing your face into Jarlaxle’s for the next hour? Or have we earned some peace by surviving all these uncomfortable displays?”  
Both drow turned to glare at him, Jarlaxle signing something furiously at him about Drizzt's ass, and escaping, or something like that. He was a little disappointed Drizzt didn’t catch it. 

“I just stopped by to talk to you,” Drizzt replied tightly, turning to Jarlaxle, “one of these days, you’re going to wind up here and not be able to get back out. You think you can spend the rest of your lives skating by, committing crimes, but you can’t! Eventually, even the cleverest criminals get caught–“ he scowled as Jarlaxle rolled his eyes, “–especially with an extensive record like yours. It’s such a disappointment,” Drizzt sighed, “watching the both of you waste your time. You could be doing some real good for the world, with your skills–questionably attained though they may be. You just need to clean up your acts, and look past yourselves.”

“Thank you, Mr. Do’Urden, may we go home now?” Artemis droned from his huddle on the floor. Drizzt pursed his lips and squared his shoulders, spinning on one heel before Jarlaxle reached over to grab his jacket sleeve.

“You know, Drizzt dear, you’re right. Maybe… I haven’t been looking at this in the right light.” Drizzt narrowed his eyes at him, turning slightly. Jarlaxle took hold of his forearm and gently pulled him closer, smiling languidly and motioning for Drizzt to lean in.

“You’re right, I could be putting my talents to good use. I could be using my more questionably attainted skills, even, to do you some real good,” Jarlaxle said in a stage whisper.  
Drizzt pulled away and marched off. Jarlaxle snapped his fingers and slunk back over to Entreri as Drizzt’s footsteps retreated, slumping back down to the ground. He held his chin in one hand and stared straight ahead.

“Well then, that didn’t go as well as I’d hoped,” Jarlaxle said into the silence.

“What, were you hoping to get convicted of sexual harassment on top of everything else? ‘Cause in that case, no really, you did a fucking amazing job,” Artemis snapped. Jarlaxle sighed and they lapsed into silence until an hour later, a guard hauled the door open.

“You two are free to go; your bail’s been paid.”


	3. Black Me Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I don't want to see the world that way anymore,_  
>  _I don't want to want feel that weak and insecure,_  
>     
> (Chapter Warnings: Blood, Head Injury, Bleeding, Vomiting, Mentions of Violence)

Artemis was too surprised to exercise the appropriate amount of suspicion.

“You called someone?” he asked Jarlaxle.

“Of course,” Jarlaxle replied. “Did you think I was content to spend the whole of my weekend here?”

Artemis huffed. 

“Certainly could have fooled me. Who was deluded enough to agree?”

Jarlaxle ignored him, strolling over to the door before realizing with a frown that Entreri wasn’t up and out of the damned cell yet. Artemis was rising unsteadily to his feet, one hand bracing his skull and the other hovering uselessly ahead of him, as though he were searching for a wall.

Jarlaxle cursed under his breath and offered him his uninjured arm with a flourished bow. Artemis scowled, but stayed silent, leaning heavily on Jarlaxle as they limped to the exit. Only the guard seemed surprised when Artemis had to stop just past the gate and vomit in the corner.

At the front desk, Artemis blinked blearily at the stout halfling that was waiting for them, looking disheveled with her hail pulled into a haphazard ponytail and the remnants of eye-shadow smeared into a mask around her eyes.

“Hello, Dwahvel!” Jarlaxle said.

“One of you better have a damned good excuse as to why my ass is here at the county jail at two in the––“ She faltered as she caught sight of Artemis’ bruised face. “Jarlaxle, what the hell did you do to him”

“Why do you always assume it’s my fault?” Jarlaxe asked.

“Because it _is_ always your fault,” Artemis snapped.

Dwahvel sighed and shouldered her messenger bag. 

“Get him in the car Jarlaxle,” she said, gesturing at Artemis, “and prepare to explain everything in as self-abasing a way as possible.”

“Why?” said Jarlaxle, slipping an arm around Artemis’s shoulder as the latter winced and staggered forward.

“Because I demand some entertainment from this little charade. I’m going to pull the car up,” she said, turning and exiting.

Jarlaxle huffed and steadied Entreri as well as he could outside the station, both uncomfortably silent until Dwahvel’s round little car came around the corner. Artemis pulled away from Jarlaxle and climbed into the front seat, gritting his teeth at a fresh wave of nausea while Jarlaxle got into the back.

“So,” Dwahvel barked over the sound of the engine turning over, "what the hell?”

“I’m afraid we’ve become victims of the government's notorious and yet unsurprising abuse of power during peaceful protest gatherings,” Jarlaxle said imperiously, staring out the window.

“Jarlaxle decided that an orc-rights riot was the best place to be when a SWAT van showed up. I guess it wasn’t dangerous and violent enough though, so he figured he’d spice things up a bit by lobbing Molotov cocktails at the men with nightsticks and guns. To everyone’s fucking surprise, Jarlaxle got himself cut up and I got kicked in the head," said Artemis acidly.

“Nightstick, actually,” Jarlaxle added. “You were out for quite some time. And it was only one Molotov cocktail.”

Dwahvel blinked, turning her incredulous stare to Artemis at a red light.

“Artemis, why do you let him do things like that?”

“I don’t let him do anything, I’m not his fucking father, and he’s not a child.”

“Thank you,” mumbled Jarlaxle.

“He’s just a reckless, attention-hungry asshole with no concept at all of consequence.”

Jarlaxle sighed dramatically, and Dwahvel ratcheted her voice up to prevent the forthcoming rant.

“That doesn’t explain why you always seem keen on tagging along to these little disasters,” she said, glancing over at Artemis.

He didn’t turn to meet her, shrugging almost imperceptibly. Dwahvel swerved hard and banked her car on the curb with a brief screeching sound.

“Artemis, your face. It’s bleeding,” Dwahvel said.

He gaped at her, opening his mouth and realizing there was a rivulet of blood traveling down his lips and dripping onto his chin. He cupped his hand over his nose.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, leaning his head back. “I’ll give you some cash to get the upholstery cleaned if blood got anywhere.”

Dwahvel grimaced, rummaging around in the glovebox and handing him a napkin.

“Idiot,” she said, “I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No, out of the question,” he said flatly, “Home will be fine. In fact, I’m looking forward to it.”

“Artemis, your face is bleeding, you can’t stop shaking when you move, and you look like you’re about to hurl,” she said impatiently, starting the car up again.

“He already did twice,” Jarlaxle added helpfully.

“That’s a concussion, Artemis, you need to go to the hospital.”

“You know, nobody’s asked if _I_ want to go to the hospital,” Jarlaxle said tartly.

Artemis shook his head, still holding his nose as blood started to ooze between his fingers.

“I don’t have insurance,” Artemis said, sounding exhausted.

Dwahvel sighed and took a hard left, driving towards his apartment in a tense silence that Jarlaxle didn’t even seem up to breaking.

“Will you let me take you to the ER if you feel any worse?” she asked, trying to keep her voice low enough so that only the two of them would hear.

“…maybe,” Artemis conceded, staring resolutely out the window, “if I could find a way to pay you back. Oh, shit!” he hissed, wincing as his own voice pounded in his head, “I have to pay you back the bail money.”

Dwahvel clicked her tongue disapprovingly, shaking her head. 

“Don’t worry about that right now,” she said.

“I will continue worrying about it, because I don’t even know how much I owe you yet.”

“We’ll work something out, okay? Just come do some bouncing at the Copper Ante or something. Lord knows I could use someone the patrons will actually be afraid of, instead of Dondon’s fat ass,” she chuckled.

“That actually seems worse,” he mumbled, leaning against the headrest.

“I’d slap you if you weren’t already purple and bloody,” she said, trying to keep the amusement out of her voice as she pulled up to a small apartment building.

“Thank you Dwahvel,” Artemis said stiffly, leaning forward to open his door and doubling up instead. Dwahvel put her hand gently on his shoulder, and jumped as he twitched violently and flung open the car door to retch on the pavement.

“On that note, a lovely night to you, Madame Tiggerwillies,” Jarlaxle said brightly, leaning between the two front seats to kiss her on the cheek, “I am in your debt. May I be so bold as to suggest a torrid and lascivious dinner date as a repayment to you?”

She grinned, patting him on the back of the head affectionately.

“Nice try, but as I believe I warned you last time: one man, even you, would never have the skill or heart to handle me,” she said. 

They both paused a moment, glancing at the shaky silhouette of Entreri beneath the streetlight and back each other with a simultaneous bark of laughter.

“I wouldn’t put any bets on it,” she said with a wink.

“Never hurts to ask,” said Jarlaxle, slipping out of the car. He waved once before wrapping Artemis’s arm over his shoulder and leading him slowly up to his apartment.

Well, their apartment, technically. Though Jarlaxle frequently referred to himself as “homeless”, he spent almost all of his time in Artemis’s studio apartment, having made a small nest of pillows and blankets for himself behind the patchy loveseat.

Jarlaxle mused to himself about the one time Artemis had ever made good on his constant threats to throw him out, and the man’s face when he’d come slinking back with several broken bones and a crooked nose. Ever since, Artemis seemed to have an endless string of excuses for why he let the elf stay.

Artemis was leaning heavily on Jarlaxle by the time they made it up the stairs, bent over by spells of dry heaving. As soon as they got through the door, Artemis shoved off somewhat roughly, staggering over to support himself on the couch.

There was a rustling noise, and the sound of footsteps from behind Artemis’s bedroom door. They both tensed, Jarlaxle stepping towards the door quietly and deftly palming a small throwing knife from his belt. 

The door creaked open, and for a moment, they could only see a large figure silhouetted in the doorway. The light came on in the bedroom, revealing a fat elf woman with generous curves and short pink hair, shaved clean on one side.

"Muinel!” Jarlaxle shouted, dropping the knife and wrapping her in a hug. “How lovely to see you!”

Behind them, Artemis threw up.


	4. Bitter Divisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Do you share the same sense of defeat?_   
> _Have you realized all the things you'll never be?_   
> _Ideals turn to resentment, open minds close up with cynicism._   
> _I've got no judgement for you._   
> _Come on and ache with me._

“You’ll have to excuse me a moment dear,” Jarlaxle said. He patted the woman on the shoulder with a strained smile.

He hoisted Artemis up from his crouched shape on the floor and deposited him nonchalantly onto the worn, luridly green couch, setting about cleaning up the mess on the carpet. Artemis glared at the heavy-set woman, hands shaking on his knees. 

“Who is she, and why is she in my damned house?” Artemis asked, glancing back and forth between her and Jarlaxle. 

“Jarlaxle, why’s he talking about me like I’m not here?” she said, lighting a cigarette. She was standing, hovering just in front of where Artemis sat; obscuring the small TV perched on a stack of vintage-looking soda crates. That and the rather posh looking stereo on the floor were the only visible conceits the apartment betrayed.  
Jarlaxle sighed in a world-weary way and faced them. 

“Artemis, this is Muinel. Muinel, that’s Artemis; you’ve heard of him,” he said briskly, grinning at both of them before resuming his cleaning. 

Muinel was short, just a little shorter than Artemis himself, though significantly heavier. Her stomach was bare beneath a Misfits cropped t-shirt, rolling in soft curves and obscuring the front of her studded belt. The belt hung uselessly around her voluptuous hips, and her cutoffs, fitted snugly as to look almost painted on and only coming down a few inches over her thighs, didn’t seem to need any help staying on. 

She had a round face framed on one side by her lopsided, bright pink hair and a rounded, upturned nose that would have given her a pleasant and mischievous face if she weren’t scowling daggers at Artemis. Every time she tapped the ashes off her cigarette there was a familiar jingling noise from the piercings that crowded her pointed ears and the various bangles hanging from her wrists and ankles.  
Artemis had the briefly disturbing thought that if she and Jarlaxle had sex it would sound like a small band of tambourine players colliding. 

“And Muinel is your-” Artemis said, eyeing her with poorly concealed distaste. 

“We have an affectionate and mutually beneficial business arrangement,” Muinel interrupted from around her cigarette, scowling, “and in case you’re stupid and not just plain rude, I’m standing right here.”

“Fucking hell, Jarlaxle, you gave the keys to my goddamn apartment to a _prostitute_?” Artemis snarled, pointedly avoiding Muinel’s eyes.

“The fuck did you just call me?” Muinel said coldly, biting her lip and flicking her cigarette ash at Artemis’ face. 

Artemis knew he should be more tolerant, a teenage runaway himself with a reputation for his skill with small blades, and if he had been in less pain he might have even felt a pulse of shame. At the moment though, he only found her presence insidious, and it wasn’t as though the potent combination of sex, money, and Jarlaxle made it easy to trust the girl’s intentions.

“And tell her to put out that damned cigarette!” Artemis barked, digging his fingers into his temples. 

“I’m going to need one hell of a good reason to not beat this piece of shit senseless,” Muinel said darkly, baring her teeth and nearly halving the cigarette.

“Would you two please cut it out?” said Jarlaxle, slamming a bag into the garbage bin. “Muinel, dearest, he’s taken quite a bit of punishment already, and if you kill him I’ll be quite put out, literally and metaphorically. Artemis, I fully expect you to treat her with the respect we’d afford any guest and may I say that I am appalled at your behavior.”

“This is _my_ house, and she is not my guest,” Artemis hissed, despite the fact that Jarlaxle was resolutely ignoring him. Muinel flashed him her middle finger. 

“Muinel, what were you doing here anyway? I thought our next, ah, meeting, was Thursday?” Jarlaxle asked, keeping his tone soft. 

“And what were you doing in my damned room?” added Artemis, head cradled in his hands once again.

“I heard ‘bout what happened downtown on the radio; remembered you went down there. Figured I’d stop by to see if you got out okay. It took such a long time for you to get back, and me having appointments in the morning, I figured I’d grab a nap. In the only available bed,” she said icily, glaring at Artemis. “I’m glad you made it back in one piece.”

“Wait,” Artemis said, staring at Jarlaxle, “you have your meetings here? In my apartment? In my _room_? When I’m at work?” 

“I’d say ‘one piece’ is a little optimistic,” Jarlaxle said distractedly, ignoring Artemis. “But thank you, _mrannd’ssinss_ , it’s very sweet of you to look after me.”

Muinel smiled gently, looking positively angelic with the rage gone from her features, and kissed Jarlaxle, wrapping her arms around his waist and squeezing. Artemis pointedly ignored Jarlaxle slipping her a twenty dollar bill with a parting peck on the cheek.

“Suppose I’ll be going, then,” she said, patting the drow’s ass for emphasis. “Wouldn’t want to be around when Surly the Jackass sobers up or… whatever’s gone wrong with him. I’ll see you Thursday.” 

She slid out the door with a wink, trailing clove smoke behind her. Jarlaxle sighed and disappeared into the kitchen, re-emerging with a bag of peas wrapped in a hand-towel and a glass of water.

“Here,” he mumbled, placing the glass in Artemis’s hand. “Drink something, before you really do end up in the hospital. I don’t have the energy to drive, and you can’t afford the ambulance.”

“I cannot fathom what you see in that girl,” Artemis growled at the glass, his tone lacking any real venom. Jarlaxle smiled crookedly at him, watching Artemis’s hand shake violently as he tried to lift the cup to his mouth. Jarlaxle leaned on the arm of the couch, wrapping his hand around Artemis’s to steady it and prevent him from spilling it everywhere.

“I find myself saying the same thing about you from time to time,” Jarlaxle said, running the pad of his thumb over Artemis’s fingers and subsequently catching the glass when Artemis fumbled it. “Careful, if you drink too fast you’ll just end up puking again.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Artemis said, staring blankly at a patch of carpet.

“Hey, look at me, smart-mouth,” Jarlaxle said, crouching in front of Artemis on the floor. He turned to Jarlaxle with an air of vague surprise, as though he’d forgotten his friend was there. Jarlaxle clucked his tongue and gingerly pressed the wrapped peas to Artemis’s bruised eye. Artemis only blinked at Jarlaxle, hands balling into fists at his sides.  
With a violent jolt, Artemis slapped Jarlaxle’s hand away from him and drew back, looking as though he’d caught the drow trying to knife him.

“What in the nine hells are you doing?” he said, holding his jittering hands out in front of him defensively. 

“Trying to keep your eye from swelling shut,” Jarlaxle said, sitting back on his heels. “What’s gotten into you?”

Artemis remained sullenly quiet. Jarlaxle wondered for a moment if he was refusing to answer, or just hiding the fact that even he wasn’t sure what the answer was. Jarlaxle brandished his bag of peas helplessly.

“Well, may I continue?” Jarlaxle asked, chuckling weakly. 

Artemis made a noise that reminded Jarlaxle of a disgruntled hedgehog and nodded once. Jarlaxle slowly sat up enough to reach Artemis’s face and carefully applied the frozen bag to it. 

“I suspect you’ll have one hell of a headache by now,” Jarlaxle remarked after a moment, shifting the makeshift ice pack.

“Do you also suspect you’ll alleviate it with your endless chatter?” Artemis said, training his good eye on Jarlaxle. “Sit on the damned couch, you look foolish.”

Jarlaxle moved to sit facing him, holding the ice pack in place and frowning at the free hand in his lap. 

“I’m sorry, you know,” Jarlaxle said, sounding more annoyed than contrite. Still, Artemis looked appropriately surprised.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for all this,” Jarlaxle said, waving vaguely at Artemis, “I certainly didn’t intend to get you brained. So, you know…Sorry.”

Artemis had been listening with the sense of surprised amusement he usually reserved for watching Jarlaxle get rejected at bars. He cocked his head slightly at Jarlaxle, waiting for the punch line.  
They sat together in silence for a while, with Jarlaxle checking to see if the ice compress was working every few minutes. After a moment, Artemis prodded Jarlaxle’s lacerated arm.

“Go get some damned peroxide and the bandage roll I keep under the sink,” Artemis said. “You’ll need help wrapping that; otherwise you’d just make a mess of things.”

“Only if you drink some more,” Jarlaxle said, bringing the glass to Artemis’s mouth. Artemis frowned and took it from Jarlaxle, focusing hard not to slosh it on himself.

“I can manage, thank you,” Artemis grumbled, waving Jarlaxle away.

“Sure you can,” Jarlaxle said, walking to the bathroom. “I’ll get a towel for your inevitable failure.”

“Make sure you clean your arm first, jackass,” Artemis called after him, smiling down at his glass.


End file.
